


I'd give you the shirt off my back but never my heart

by Kayevelyn



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-05 23:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayevelyn/pseuds/Kayevelyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is clothing shared, but feelings are definitely not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd give you the shirt off my back but never my heart

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired because [this got mentioned](http://kayevelyn.tumblr.com/post/45807873384/ian-and-mickey-wearing-the-same-hoodie-in) and I love clothes sharing and it gave me feelings and so I wrote for the first time since December .____.
> 
> Also this takes place in some vague time of season 3. *hand wave*

Gallagher had this habit of spreading out. You’d think the kid had no concept of personal space, and considering how many people he lived with, Mickey wouldn’t put it past him. He got comfortable somewhere and then he took over. At the store his backpack was always some place else every day, and his notebooks were always in different places, that every time he had to leave Mickey would watch him scramble around looking for the pen he left in the backroom, and his physics notebook that somehow got shoved behind the boxes that they were gonna toss out to recycling.

The point was when Gallagher got comfortable his shit got everywhere. He wasn’t messy, he just left his crap in all different places because he thought they were _his places_ or something. If Mickey were the psychology type he was positive he would have a field day figuring out what it all _meant_ , but he wasn’t- so he didn’t.

Instead he just stared at the pair of boxers he knew weren’t his that was wedged between his bed and the wall and wondered how the fuck Gallagher left without his fucking boxers. That had to chafe.

Not that Mickey cared. He shook his head and stuffed them in a plastic bag as he left for work.

When he got there Gallagher was already behind the counter, backpack stuffed in a corner and his homework spread out on the countertop. Mickey glanced around the store, looking to see if anyone was lurking around.

“Hey,” Ian muttered, not looking up from his homework. “The truck came by today, can you take out the boxes? I have a test—“ Mickey cut him off by placing the plastic bag on the counter, waiting until Ian slowly looked up, eyebrow raised. “Yes?”

Mickey grinned as he made a show of untying the bag and pulling out Ian’s boxers. Ian’s eyes scrunched up, obviously not understanding what he was looking at. Mickey waved the boxers in his face, delighting in the way his eyes widened once he realized what they were. His ears pinked as he tried to grab for them, but Mickey was too fast. He pulled his arm away, laughing as Ian’s stomach hit the edge of the counter.

“Are those mine?” Ian asked, and Mickey moved quickly to avoid him trying to jump over the counter.

“Why don’t you come here and find out?” Mickey dodged the initial lunge that Ian did, spinning out of the way before he saw the opportunity to shove the boxers right in Ian’s face, and he took it.

“What the fuck!?” Ian practically screeched as Mickey laughed. He jerked backwards, trying to get away. Mickey wouldn’t let him, making sure to follow Ian, keeping the boxers pressed to his face. “Get those away from me!” Ian was laughing though, even as he barely avoided tripping over a plastic carton that had held the milk he must have restocked before Mickey got there.

“So are they yours?” Mickey was starting to get out of breath and he slowed down as Ian made a break for it, dancing down the aisle and hiding near the soups.

Ian watched him wearily and Mickey collapsed in the seat behind the counter, trying to twirl the boxers on his finger and failing. Seeming to realize Mickey had paused for a moment, Ian took a few steps towards the counter. “How did I leave my boxers?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Mickey asked, giving him a look.

Ian reached for his boxers again once he reached the counter, but Mickey pulled his hand back out of habit. Couldn’t give anyone what they wanted. “Mick just give them back to me.”

They stared at one another for a moment before Mickey sighed and held out his hand, Ian snatching his boxers back with a huff.

“Don’t leave your shit at my place again,” Mickey said, but there wasn’t any heat in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ian muttered, stuffing his boxers in his backpack. “It won’t happen again.”

 

Gallagher was a liar, cause it didn’t end with the boxers (which still kept showing up sometimes, in the most random places. They really didn’t fuck in his room often enough to warrant that). Soon it was shirts, a few socks, and pants. Mickey was beginning to wonder how Gallagher still had clothes with the amount of shit he left laying around Mickey’s room.

And they really, seriously, were not in there enough for it to be possible that Gallagher lost this much crap.

Mickey sighed as he found another shirt, the third one this week, and honestly, he was getting fed up with this. Gallagher obviously didn’t miss the clothes, always seemed surprised when Mickey returned the offending articles, like he didn’t even realize he had left the house half naked. Which he must have because seriously _how do you leave pants_ at someone else’s house? It’s not like they were having sleepovers.

The shirt was soft in the way that came from being old and laundried. Mickey ran his hand over his stomach, feeling the fabric. The shirt fit a little wonky, but no different than the other hand downs Mickey normally wore. And it didn’t smell half bad either. He wouldn’t admit that it smelled like Gallagher, like Old Spice and musk because Mickey was pretty sure Gallagher had worked out in this shirt, but that didn’t matter.

Mickey grabbed his jacket, tossing it on over the shirt. Before he left for work Mickey made sure that the socks he had found were in his pocket, because those he was returning. The shirt could stay, since it was so nice.

 

“What poor ROTC guy did you shank for those?” Mandy asked as she slid down onto the couch, visiting him because she seemed to think he missed her or something.

Mickey looked down at the camo khakis he had filched from Gallagher’s bag. They were comfortable, and had more pockets than Mickey knew what to do with. _And_ Gallagher hadn’t even known they had been missing, even though Mickey had had them for at least two weeks. Granted it wasn’t like Mickey wore them outside the house, or anywhere Gallagher could see.

“Don’t remember,” Mickey said, taking a long sip from his drink.

Mandy gave him a look up and down. “Must not have been that tough if you were able to take him.”

“Ha-ha, fuck you,” Mickey flipped her off as he grabbed the second controller, intending on showing her a thing or two about how to use the rocket launcher, because honestly she was terrible.

“Put that down,” she said half-heartedly, not taking her eyes off of the television screen as they divided up into their teams.

“My house, I’m allowed to touch the fucking controller.”

“Yeah well Ian is stopping by to pick me up and I figured we could play a game or two.”

Mickey frowned, dodging one of the Blues before someone from the other team chucked a grenade at him, ending his life. He cursed as he waited to respawn. “What you guys don’t have video games over at his place?”

Mandy jabbed her elbow in his side. “There’s like eighteen people who live there, you think we can get time in front of the T.V. to play? Whatever, just give him the controller when he gets here. _He_ can probably kick your ass.”

Mickey snorted and the thing he was about to mutter under his breath turned into a full-blown curse as he died _again_. Fucking really? He was still raging about that completely bullshit death when the front door opened, and Ian stuck his head in.

“In here!” Mandy called, button mashing as she tried to kill and run at the same time.

Mickey didn’t look up but he could feel Ian’s eyes on him and he stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, biting down in concentration as he tried to beat the time and get one more kill. Mandy cursed as the time ran out and Mickey set down the controller before he finally got up the nerve to look up at Ian.

He was staring at the pants, because of course he was, and he was giving Mickey a _Jesus fuck really?_ look. Mickey couldn’t help it, he tossed his feet on the coffee table, stretching out his legs. Ian rolled his eyes and mumbled under his breath about how he needed to use the bathroom.

Mandy waved her hand as she started up another level, and Mickey gave it a moment before he tossed his controller down and followed Ian into his room.

He was on Mickey the moment the door shut, hands pushing at the tops of the pants. Mickey didn’t know why but he barked out a quiet laugh, ducking his head and biting at Ian’s ear, causing him to gasp. 

His hands didn’t falter. Ian manhandled them over to the bed, finally managing to strip Mickey of the pants before crawling in between his thighs.

“You stole my pants.”

Mickey waggled his eyebrows, unable to help himself. “You left them.”

Ian huffed, one hand undoing his own jeans and the other searching for the bottle of lube Mickey hid between his bed and his wall. “Well I better not take off any of my clothes unless I want to lose more of them right?”

“What the fuck ever,” Mickey said, eyes drawn on how Ian pushed his pants down to his thighs and his boxers down just enough to get his cock out.

Mickey didn’t reach for him, instead he grabbed behind his thighs and held himself open so Ian had it easy once he finally got a hold of the lube. They were both panting as Ian slicked his cock up, one finger slipping down to push into Mickey, just to get him wet.

Mickey bit his lip, trying to crane his head so he could watch as much as possible, and once Ian was inside him he threw an arm around Ian’s shoulders, holding on while Ian rode him dirty, fast, and hard.

“Fuck Gallagher,” Mickey groaned, trying not to bang his head against the wall. They couldn’t do anything about the squeaking of the bed, but at this point Mickey didn’t really care, and it was obvious Ian didn’t either as he tucked his face into Mickey’s neck, biting down as he came.

White flashed in Mickey’s eyes as he followed, Ian’s hand tight on his cock. They both gasped, trying to catch their breath, just like they always did after quick fucks like this.

“You’re such a thief,” Ian said, eyes darting down to the pair of pants on the floor.

“Shut up.” Mickey punched him lightly in the shoulder to get Ian to roll off of him. Ian did, grabbing his camo pants and handing them back to Mickey.

“I guess you can keep them for now,” Ian said, grinning.

“Fuck you, of course I can. Don’t need your permission,” Mickey said as he pulled on the pants over his boxers. He could feel come leaking down towards the back of his thighs, and he’d need to clean up at some point. For now he just let Ian leave first, knowing he would follow in a few minutes.

Mickey touched the pants and grinned.

 

“Hey Gallagher those aren’t yours,” Mickey said as he watched Ian pull on the shirt he had been wearing before. A shirt that was actually his. He’d even gone through the effort and _paid_ for that one, he was pretty sure at least.

Ian gave him a look and then slowly continued to pull on Mickey’s shirt. “First one I could find.” He flashed a quick smile. “I’m gonna be late to work.”

Mickey started for a moment, unable to believe what he was seeing as Ian grabbed his backpack and headed to the bedroom door. They were alone for now, his dad and brothers not expected back for a few more hours so Mickey didn’t feel vulnerable following Ian out into the living room in nothing but his boxers… Ian’s boxers… whatever, same thing.

“You can’t just take my fucking shirt.”

Ian had the gall to smile brightly at him and look down at the shirt. “Looks like I can. See you at work!”

Mickey growled and stormed back into his room, grabbing the first pair of pants he could find – _Ian’s,_ – the first shirt – _his,_ – and threw on a jacket because it was getting cold – _also Ian’s,_ – before he slammed out of the house, running after Ian.

He couldn’t cause a scene on the street, which Ian seemed to know from the way he kept shooting him a shit eating grin while they walked side-by-side to the Kash n’ Grab.

“You’re a dead man Gallagher,” Mickey settled for saying, unable to stop looking at the way Ian looked in his clothes. He liked it, and he wondered if Ian thought the same thing when Mickey wore his clothes.

Not that he cared because it wasn’t like he _intentionally_ wore Gallagher’s clothes just to piss him off. He was the one who kept leaving his shit around Mickey’s room. If he didn’t want Mickey wearing them he wouldn’t leave them. Simple as that.

Well except for the stuff that Mickey stole, but those didn’t count. Most of those Ian didn’t even know about.

Linda looked up as they came in and she shook her head, looking at her watch. “Good you are actually on time for once. Bravo. I have to head out.” She didn’t say anything else because what else did she need to say, they already knew to watch the store. She’d threatened them enough.

Mickey waited until the door shut behind her, grabbing a magazine while Ian settled down behind the counter, pulling out a book and looking cozy. Like he wasn’t sitting there wearing one of Mickey’s shirts. Like it wasn’t obvious that it didn’t fit, pulled tight over his chest.

The door chimed as someone came in, and Mickey watched one of the regular little old ladies came in to play lotto numbers. Ian served her, smiling his stupid smile, doing things while wearing Mickey’s _fucking shirt._

It was unfair.

The lady left and Mickey followed her, flipping the sign to “Back in Five Minutes” and locking the door. When he turned back around Ian was already up, still fucking smiling and backing up slowly.

Mickey stalked towards him, and once Ian was out from behind the counter he lunged.

“Gimme my fucking shirt back,” he growled as he wrestled Ian into the backroom, hands going to the hem of his shirt and tearing it over Ian’s head.

Ian laughed, cupping his hand over the back of Mickey’s head and pulling him towards him. “What if I don’t?”

“I’ll fucking smack your skull against this freezer,” Mickey threatened, but there wasn’t any real promise in his words. Not when Ian was standing shirtless in front of him and he was hard in his pants.

“Sure you will,” Ian said, and that fucking cocky smile was still there.

Mickey wanted to wipe it off of his stupid, freckled face. “Bend over.”

Ian barked a laugh right in his face. “What?”

He could feel how dangerous his grin was, and instead of repeating himself Mickey changed his grip, wrestling Ian down and even though he was army trained, hard muscles, that didn’t matter when Mickey had the element of surprise and Ian wasn’t really trying to fight him. Sure he gave the illusion, half-hearted twists, and an attempted jab of his elbow when Mickey made a stupid move but it was all for show. All to get their adrenaline pumping so that Mickey’s skin was tingling when he finally had Ian bent over the freezer, hand behind his back and wrists in Mickey’s grasp.

With Ian’s hands out of commission it was up to Mickey to pull his pants down, to work them down his hips so his ass was exposed. Mickey ran his hand over the naked flesh, grinning as he felt Ian shudder under him.

“Lube’s in with the ice cream boxes,” Ian gasped as the sound of Mickey’s fly coming down filled the room.

“I know where it is, you think I don’t see you pull that shit out? I’m not that gone.”

“Fuck you,” Ian groaned as Mickey reached towards the boxes, pulling out the lube. Such a good thing Linda didn’t come back here now. “My dick is magical.”

“You wish Gallagher,” Mickey shot back, dropping his pants and spreading Ian’s cheeks so he could push one lube-coated finger inside him.

Ian hissed, body clenching around Mickey’s finger. “If this is supposed to be a deterrent for wearing your clothes it’s not gonna work.”

Mickey let go of Ian’s wrists to slap his ass, and he didn’t bother to grab them again because Ian wasn’t moving. He liked his hands behind his back like this. He just needed to be put in his place once and he’d stay.

He worked a second finger into Ian, his other hand dropping down to his cock because the image of him finger fucking Ian was a hot one, and he wasn’t gonna let it go to waste. He groaned, pulling his fingers out and replacing them with the tip of his cock.

Ian hissed again. “What that’s the only prep you’re gonna give me?”

“Stop being a little bitch. You should be honored I’m doing this.”

Mickey could hear him let out a puff of a laugh as his body tightened to Mickey entering him. It was tight and felt like heaven as Mickey bottomed out, but he didn’t wait, pulling out and starting a hard pace.

Ian was cursing underneath him, hands dropping down so he could push himself up. Mickey put one hand on the back of Ian’s neck, making sure he knew to stay bent over.

It was great feeling Ian relax under himself, coming apart as he continued to fuck him. They didn’t do this all that often because Mickey liked it the other way around too much, but sometimes, sometimes this was alright. Ian could take it, even if it wasn’t his preference.

They worked together like that.

They were loud as they both came, able to abuse the fact that they _could be_ , didn’t need to stifle their moans because they were somewhere public. No one would come in. It was safe.

Mickey wiped his come off of Ian’s back and ass with his shirt, the one Ian had stolen. That was one way to keep from stealing it, though from the way Ian glared at him it wasn’t as big of a deterrent as he hoped.

“What the fuck am I gonna wear then?” Ian asked, crossing his arms over his chest after he pulled up his pants.

Mickey shrugged. “Not my problem.” He wiped Ian’s stomach clean of his own come, and then handed him the shirt so he could clean the top of the freezer.

“Actually it is, because I need a shirt.”

Ian was looking him up and down and Mickey gave him a look. “What the fuck are you looking at?”

“Give me my jacket.”

“Fuck you this is my jacket,” Mickey said looking down at his – _Ian’s_ – jacket.

Ian glared. “Then give me the shirt you’re wearing under it and zip up the damn jacket.”

“This is _definitely_ my shirt.”

Ian stepped into his personal space. “Mick, I will drop you if you don’t give me your fucking shirt.”

Mickey let out a breath and pulled off the jacket before stripping off his shirt. Ian grabbed it quickly, obviously not sure if Mickey was gonna take it back. “Thanks.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey muttered, pulling his jacket back on and zipping it up. He liked the jacket. It was comfortable.

Ian flipped him off as he left the backroom, heading to open the store back up. “We really need to change the five minutes to like, fifteen minutes or something.”

Mickey snorted. “Take it up with the boss lady.”

He tried to ignore the way Ian looked at him as he sat down at the counter, flipping through his magazine. He’d never admit it, but he liked it.

“I want my shirt back.”

Ian rolled his eyes, and didn’t respond as the door opened and a customer came in.


End file.
